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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28953078">‘cause i’m still turning out</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenavampire1999/pseuds/serenavampire1999'>serenavampire1999</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>EWE, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, suicide ideation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:29:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,187</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28953078</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenavampire1999/pseuds/serenavampire1999</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You say I turned out fine<br/>I think I'm still turning out<br/>I hope you stick around<br/>We're gonna figure it out<br/>Who can I turn to now?<br/>When I'm still turning out”<br/>-Turning Out, AJR</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Secret Snipers Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>‘cause i’m still turning out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingdown101/gifts">fallingdown101</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Turning Out has always felt like a Drarry song to me, I recommend listening to it while you read! </p>
<p>I hope my requester enjoys the fill! I wasn’t planning on writing as much as I did, the words just kept comin.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Draco isn’t sure why he keeps coming up to the Astronomy tower. He was acquitted for his worst crimes, let off with basically a slap on the wrist. He should be glad, he should be working to restore the Malfoy family name to glory, he should be using every ounce of his Slytherin nature to fit himself into this post-war world. What he really is, though, is empty. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He tells himself that he doesn’t know why he comes up here. He asks himself the question every time, as if pretending not to know the answer will make him forget. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He sits on the ledge that Dumbledore fell out of, legs swinging over the drop that would surely kill him if there was a strong enough breeze, a vengeful classmate looking to push him, if he…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Terror feels like the only emotion he’s had for the past two years, and now it’s like he doesn’t know how to feel anything else. And what better way to get his dose of terror than facing his worst mistake and failure head-on? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hears footsteps behind him and closes his eyes and rests his head against the cold stone, wondering if it’s one of his fellow Slytherins, or someone with more dangerous intentions. What he absolutely wasn’t planning on hearing was a carefully neutral “Malfoy?” from behind him </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His heart thuds dully against his chest at Potter’s voice, and terror doesn’t seem to be the correct response to this situation, but he doesn’t have any other name for this emotion. “Potter,” he responds, deadpan and not moving from his seat. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Potter doesn’t say anything after that, but Draco can feel his eyes on him. He was here first, though, and if Potter wants something from him, he can use his words. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But then seconds pass into minutes, and Potter is still just standing there. Just watching him. Those piercing green eyes as oppressive as any spell. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Draco can’t stand the anticipation anymore, but he refuses to be the one to break first. It’s always been a competition with Potter, and Draco isn’t quite sure how to break the habit now. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He starts to kick his legs over the ledge, rocking his body in a way that makes his stomach swoop with the anticipation of <em>almost</em>. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It seems like that hint of danger was enough to break Potter. That pesky savior-complex kicking in to say, “You’re going to fall like that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Draco can’t hold back the sneer, but it seems even Potter can’t make him feel more than the echo of anger. “Oh, will I? I’m sure it would be quite a tragedy if I did,” he snips, though the words come out duller than he had hoped. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It goes quiet again, and Draco bites his tongue, hands fisting against the stone. He’s not doing this again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He gets his feet under him and stands, stomach swooping again as he pitches forward slightly while regaining his balance. Before he can properly center himself, though, he feels a tight hand on his wrist. His heart skips. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What are you doing here, anyways?” Potter asks, though Draco isn’t quite sure if he’s imagining the lack of suspicion in the Chosen One’s voice. His bright, killing curse green eyes are staring straight into Draco’s, gaze just as arresting and the tight grip on his wrist. His left wrist.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What does it look like?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Those eyes flash, and Draco is reminded of a similar flash of that color in this very room. In this very spot. It makes his stomach swoop again, but it’s that same non-terror from earlier. He’s not sure where this certainty that Potter won’t kill him came from, it’s not like he hasn’t tried before, but he can’t quite bring himself to be afraid of the Boy-Who-Lived in that way. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You know, you’ve always managed to piss me off, Malfoy,” he intones, jaw working as he keeps just <em>staring</em> at him. “But I wouldn’t have spoken at your trial if I thought you deserved punishment just for being a git.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Draco gapes at him. “Just for- wha- <em>punishment</em>? Wh-what the bloody hell are you talking about?” he sputters.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Potter sets his jaw and tightens his grip around Draco’s wrist. “You know I was there. I saw everything that happened,” he thins his lips, even as those green, green eyes grow softer, “We were just kids, Malfoy. I know <em>I</em> still am. We should be able to move on and grow up.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Draco sneers, but the pull of his lips on his face feels too much like panic; the way he tries to jerk his hand out of the grip probably doesn’t help the image, either. “Fuck off, <em>Savior</em>,” he spits, voice tight, “I don’t need you to tell me what I should be able to do. I’m not bloody hurting anyone, so you can just stuff it and go, Potter.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re hurting <em>yourself</em>,” he snaps back, eyes blazing and keeping Draco rooted in his spot, “There’s already enough pain going around without people flaying themselves with guilt.” He steps closer, but when Draco tries to take a step back his foot hits the lip of the window. “I’ve been there, Malfoy!” Potter continues, undeterred, “I know how it feels to be scooped empty, to be standing there and wondering <em>why me</em>, to look at the dead and wonder why I got to live and they didn’t.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Potter steps closer again, eyes wild, and now they are a handbreadth apart. Draco can look into those blazing eyes, see the famous scar through the curtain of messy brown hair. Draco had always been aware of Potter, especially as he began to fill out in 5th year, but seeing him now has Draco breathless. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“But now I’m here, and they’re not! You’re <em>here</em> Draco, the dead aren’t here anymore and I- we can’t live for them, can’t die for them,” Potter’s voice tapers into a rough gentleness, “This won’t solve anything, or make it better.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Draco can hardly breathe. He doesn’t know what to say. He can feel Potter’s breath ghosting over his face, the tight brand around his wrist, and the precarious open air behind him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It feels… exhilarating. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s a vibration in the air that could be Potter’s magic, the tension between them, or both. Draco can feel his face flushing, and he swallows hard. It seems Potter has realized their position as well because his eyes have gone wide and his mouth is parted; their eyes are locked onto each other’s, breaths mingling in the slight space between them. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Okay,” Draco says, voice little more than a breath. His other hand reaches up slowly to rest on the one gripping his wrist. “I’ll- try.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Potter’s face breaks into a hesitant little smile, roguish and devastating. “Yeah. I’m trying too.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Draco snorts and smirks, though he’s sure his smirk comes off softer than intended. “Saint Potter? Not getting it on the first try? Colour me surprised.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The hand around Draco’s wrist gives a gentle squeeze — he hadn’t noticed it’d loosed — and Potter closes the little distance that’s left between them. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I usually don’t.” </p>
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